


The Rick Next Door

by kishovra



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Reader-Insert, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Sad Ending, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2018-10-31 05:44:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10892916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kishovra/pseuds/kishovra
Summary: You were a proud new homeowner. Everything was going right in your life.Too bad nobody warned you about the insane genius next door with a penchant for ruining the lives of everyone around him -- including yours.





	1. Welcome to the Neighborhood

Ten years of scrimping and saving had enabled you to realize one of your dearest dreams: becoming a homeowner. Meticulous research had led you to a safe suburb only a twenty-minute drive from downtown. The school district, while not the best in the greater metro area, still held a positive rating. Not that you had a family—but this was the house in which you planned on living for the rest of your life. You weren’t sure if you even wanted kids, not even sure if you wanted to settle down with someone, but it never hurt to plan for the future.

Your new home had ‘good bones’, as your grandfather would say. The appliances were less than five years old, the roof less than ten, and despite the basement being unfinished, the foundation still looked solid. All your complaints were purely cosmetic. The previous owners had been very fond of the color pink, and you… well, you were _not_.

Moving in took less than a weekend. You still didn’t have much in the way of furniture. There was the bed, of course, and newly purchased entertainment center to place under the TV already mounted in the master bedroom. Other than that, you simply had a lot of stuff; dishes, video games, clothing, and so forth.

New neighbors popped by to greet you over the first few days. Most of them were nice people. A few of them even brought you a housewarming present. Oddly enough, all of them seemed surprised you had been willing to move into this particular house. After the third neighbor insinuated there was something wrong, you began asking questions.

“What, did I pay too much or something?” you said with a laugh, keeping your tone light and joking.

“Oh, no.” She gave a chuckle of her own. “Just… well, nobody told you about Rick Sanchez?”

The name didn’t ring a bell. You shook your head. “Can’t say that they did. Why? Is this house haunted or something?”

“Or something,” she said. “Look, the Smiths are nice people. They’re the neighbors on your other side. I don’t want to badmouth anyone, but… the grandad is a bit kooky. He’s driven the last three owners out of this house.”

Images of a demented elderly man wandering into your yard and breaking into your house flashed through your mind. Your jaw dropped. “They said they had moved away for work! They couldn’t afford two mortgages and didn’t want the hassle of making it into a rental!”

In retrospect, they had seemed desperate to be rid of the house. You had chalked it up to the combined stress of relocating halfway across the country. Why else would they have left behind all the appliances? And they had even offered to cover the closing costs…

Your new neighbor made a face somewhere between a smile and a grimace. “Beth and Jerry are good folks. Their kids are sweet, and they do keep a nice home. Forget I said anything. I heard they were looking for nursing home recommendations, anyway.”

The two of you visited for a little while longer. Hours after she said her goodbyes, however, you still had trouble shaking her warning from your thoughts. Crotchety old men were a stereotype, but just how bad was this particular old man to drive away three separate sets of neighbors? You started to take a second look at everything, inside and out. The privacy fence had a fresh coat of white paint; the flower beds were pristine with new mulch and trimmed bushes. Had the old owners taken such care to up the house’s curb appeal… or had it been to mask the damage from a crazy vandal? Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—you ended up not having to wonder about Rick Sanchez for long.

He arrived home that night in a spaceship.

A spaceship made from… garbage.

His grandson unloaded a _sex robot_ from said spaceship.

You poured out the remainder of your half-full beer into the flower bed next to your driveway. Clearly, you had been drinking too much. Convinced you were just imagining things, you closed the garage door and went straight to bed.

 

24 hours later, you began to understand why Rick Sanchez should come with a warning label. You were dozing in bed, watching a late-night talk show, when you heard screaming and shouting outside. You pulled on a robe over your pajamas and went downstairs to check things out.

A red, four-armed giant was wreaking havoc down the street. Damaged cars and snapped street lights were left in the creature’s wake as it roared and stomped its way closer to your house. To your surprise, the Smith family’s station wagon pulled up in front of the raging giant, who greeted them by smashing in the hood. The force of the creature’s blows rocked the entire vehicle.

Two figures flung themselves out of the car and onto the pavement as the station wagon was lifted into the air. The smaller one—the kid with the sex robot, you remembered—scrambled to his feet.

“Morty Junior! No!” His shouts drifted through the screen of your open dining room window. “It’s me! It’s Dad!”

You hadn’t had any alcohol that day, but you almost wished you did. The boy was short, and his voice didn’t exactly sound like it had finished maturing. What was he, 12? 13? There was no conceivable way he was a father! A moment later, you fought the urge to laugh hysterically. There was an inhuman monster hell-bent on destroying the neighborhood, and you were hung up on whether the kid next door was sexually active.

‘Morty Junior’ threw the station wagon aside. Moments later, a pink, sleek-looking spaceship descended from the night sky and hovered in the middle of the road. (This spaceship, your stunned mind noted, was _not_ made from garbage.) Rick jumped out and drew a handgun. Well, you assumed it was a gun; it more resembled a Nerf Blaster than, say, a Glock. You were willing to bet it didn’t fire foam darts, though.

“Morty! That’s one of the most violently aggressive creatures in the universe!” the old man shouted.

Great, you thought. Not a monster, just an alien.

You gasped as the yellow-shirted teen tackled his grandfather to the ground. Calling 911 crossed your mind, but you had no idea where you would even begin. You doubted anyone would believe you without seeing it for themselves.

“He’s my son!” Morty pushed one foot against Rick’s jaw. “And if you hurt him, you’ll have to kill me, Rick!”

The red alien looked up and down the street at all the damage he’d wrought before slumping down on the curb, dejected. Morty climbed off Rick and went to join him. The two talked for a bit. They shared a long embrace, and then Morty Junior stood up and leaped away. After watching him toss cars around like a toddler with Hot Wheels, you didn’t bat an eye at seeing him cross half the neighborhood in a single bound.

Shock kept you rooted to the spot long after the Smith family left. The police never did bother to show up that night. Reflecting on the conversations with your new neighbors, you concluded that this was just another day in the life of anyone living in Rick Sanchez’s proximity. The police didn’t come because no one called them to come, because no one thought _this_ constituted a real emergency. You wondered with a rising sense of horror just what all the neighborhood had survived.

… Dear lord, was _that_ why your homeowners insurance was so high?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I just want to say, this story is not a priority project for me. I'm really just fucking around here; the whole reason I'm on this site is to challenge myself and grow as a writer, and I can't think of a better way to do that than writing things I'm uncomfortable with (i.e., smut and crazy assholes like Rick). Basically, don't expect super frequent updates.
> 
> Second of all, I love how the show doesn't try to hide what Rick is from any of the characters. "Oh, your grandpa turned himself into a teenager and enrolled in our school to hunt vampires? Cool!" However, with everything the Smith-Sanchez household gets up to, you'd think their immediate neighbors would get a little bit... annoyed, to say the least. This fic was partly born from me wondering just how many next door neighbors Rick has scared away.
> 
> Finally, no, this isn't going to be an on-the-rails rehash of every episode. I will reference canon events just so you have a sense of where in the series a chapter takes place, but there will also be original content in between.


	2. Happy Birthday

Weeks had passed since the Morty Junior incident. You were both pleased and unnerved that no other strange events had disrupted the peace of the neighborhood. Ever an optimist, you decided to put Rick Sanchez and his crazy family out of your head. In your heart of hearts, however, you knew it was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped. The memory of the red alien’s destructive rampage and its anticlimactic aftermath lingered in the back of your thoughts. Still, you tried not to live in fear of what your neighbors would do next.

A heatwave swept into the state at the beginning of the month and refused to leave. The sun beat down from a cloudless blue sky, hot and unforgiving against everything and everyone below. You’d given up days ago on leaving your windows open in hopes of coaxing in a refreshing breeze. Instead, you made sure everything stayed closed, cranking the AC down as far as it would go. The unit had trouble keeping up with such high temperatures; the air in the house hovered around 72, and you counted yourself lucky it got even that cool.

You were lounging in the living room on your new couch after a long day at work. A cold can of beer rested against your forehead, held there by your hand. The chilly metal tingled against your sweaty skin. You slid the can from one temple to the other, not able to tell whether the wet trail it left over your eyebrows was more condensation or perspiration.

If only there was something to distract you from the brutal heat.

Buying a house had been a huge dream of yours, and you were so happy you’d accomplished it. Achieving your goal had still meant leaving all your friends and family behind for greener pastures, though. You had no one in this new city, nothing to distract your dull, everyday routine. You were reminded of the image you’d seen doing the rounds on everyone’s Facebook page, the one about the three stages of life. When people were young, they had time and energy but no money; middle-aged, they had money and energy but no time.

Of course, the third stage of life—getting old—supposedly meant you had all the time and the money in the world but no energy.

You instantly thought of the one person you knew of who didn’t fit that mold.

Rick Sanchez _was_ old. The deep wrinkles under his eyes and harsh lines around his mouth were testament enough to that. He was skinny, his joints knobby, and his hands were the hands of an elderly man who had worked all his life and planned to keep doing so until he died. Everything from the flyaway hair to the ugly black shoes hinted at Rick being a senior citizen. 

And yet, the man seemed to have more… _everything_ … than you.

Than anyone.

Despite your best efforts at disregarding the Smith-Sanchez family, one member always seemed to sneak into your thoughts. To be fair, he was hard to ignore. Rick’s haven was the garage. He spent a large amount of time in there, tinkering away with some contraption or another. The door was always open. Apparently, the hellish summer heat didn’t bother the old man. You weren’t the nosy type—no, really—but the only thing separating your yard from that open garage was a narrow planter of ferns that only reached chest high.

Had Rick been a normal grandfather, the proximity probably wouldn’t have been a big deal. Maybe he would’ve puttered around the yard, tending to flowers, or perhaps he would’ve been more of the weekend mechanic type. You could’ve exchanged the occasional polite ‘hello’ and that would’ve been it. _Could have, would have, should have_. Rick was not a normal old man, and you were far too curious for your own good.

You saw him do impossible things in that garage.

Against your better judgement, you wanted to know more.

Thoughts of the Morty Junior incident kept you at bay. You settled for a quick glance here, a passing look there. Once, you saw the old man and his grandson hop into a swirling, glowing green… something. They’d disappeared, and not two seconds later, so had the—the thing. Where did they go, you wondered; what did they do? The mystery drove you mad in the quiet hours of the night, when sleep wouldn’t claim you and there was nothing good on TV. Rick Sanchez was off having galactic adventures, flying around in spaceships, and fighting alien monsters. You… well, you felt accomplished if you managed to wash all the dishes every weekend.

The beer in your hand had turned lukewarm during your woolgathering. With a wistful sigh, you sat up and popped the can open. You tore off metal tab, idly twirling it between your fingers, a habit you’d picked up years ago. Keeping track of your drink was easy when it was the only one with a naked top. You wished you had an excuse to _need_ to keep track of your drink.

You took a swig of beer, and then it hit you.

You were reasonably young, and you had some time and some energy even after the work week was done. Sure, you didn’t have money—the new house had devoured your savings—but that wasn’t what mattered. The only thing you truly missed was your friends. Since your old friends weren’t an option, maybe some new friends were. All your neighbors had already shown a willingness to reach out and accept you into the community. Well, everyone except Beth and Jerry Smith. Regardless, you knew what you had to do to shake off the summer blues.

It was time to party.

 

You made personal invites to all your closest neighbors. Most of them were familiar faces, people who had welcomed you to the neighborhood with open arms. Likewise, most of them seemed happy to attend.

And then there was the Smith family.

You caught Beth, Jerry, and the kids as they were piling into their station wagon. Leaning against the narrow planter separating your property from theirs, you plastered on a smile and waved at them.

“Hey there! I know we haven’t talked much, but I just wanted to invite you guys to a party. Pretty much the whole neighborhood’s invited.”

Beth, donning a polite smile of her own, adjusted the brown leather purse hanging from her shoulder and gave a noncommittal shrug. “That sounds like fun! Unfortunately, I’m booked for a month straight—I’m a surgeon over at St Equis. Maybe Jerry and the kids will be there, though.” With a swish of pale blond hair and a pointed look at her husband, she ducked into the driver’s seat.

Jerry stammered and rubbed at the back of his head. His eyes darted around, looking at anything but you. “Well—I’m between jobs—and—you, uh, you said the whole neighborhood was going to be there?”

Neither of the kids looked like they were paying attention. Both teens tapped away at their cell phones.

“Yeah,” you said. “It’s this Saturday. Hope to see you then!”

You weren’t going to hold your breath.

 

“Gene Vagina,” the balding man on your doorstep said with a bright smile. As an afterthought, he added, “No relation.”

You waved him indoors after introducing yourself. “Come on in!”

He handed you a wine bottle wrapped with a single red ribbon around its neck as he stepped over the threshold. The party was in full swing, and Gene was one the last people to show up—or so you hoped. Perhaps inviting ‘pretty much the whole neighborhood’ had been a bad idea. People filled your living room and dining room, spilled into your kitchen, and danced in the backyard. A small line had formed outside the downstairs bathroom. Someone had started a game of beer pong, though where they had gotten the ping pong balls, you didn’t know. Even more baffling were the presents. A small pile had formed in your bedroom over the course of the evening; apparently, a rumor had swept through town that this was a birthday bash.

“Thank you!” you said over the noise.

“Happy Birthday!” said Gene.

With any luck, nobody would ask how old you were.

You pressed through the crowd, making your way into the kitchen to put the wine bottle in the fridge. A few people raised their cups to you in a friendly toast as you passed by. You turned the corner—

And smacked right into Rick.

You blurted out the first thought to pop into your head. “I didn’t invite you.”

He snorted. “I don’t think you invited half these people.”

It was seven more words than he usually said to you. You gawked up at him for a moment, his sudden appearance inside your house almost like slap upside the head. Rick Sanchez was standing in your kitchen, sipping from a flask. Somehow, it didn’t sit well with the image you had of him in your head, the one where he was leaping into his garbage-spaceship, Nerf Blaster gun in one hand, his strange green device in the other. To be fair, that was an image fabricated by your own imagination and one too many beers.

“I’m just gonna…” Rick trailed off, then apparently gave up on finishing that thought. With a shrug of his shoulders, he pushed by you and disappeared into the crowd.  

Heat filled your cheeks as you turned to watch him go. You lost sight of him pretty quick. A nervous embarrassment curled around your stomach as you shook your head and hurried to the fridge.

 _Way to go_ , you thought. _He probably thinks you’re an idiot._

You put the wine bottle away and grabbed a can of beer. You chugged that one, then took out another. Ten minutes later, you came back for a third. By the fifth beer, you’d all but forgotten about your awkward encounter with the old man from next door.

You were having the time of your life.

Music thrummed through the house, vibrated the floorboards, reverberating deep in your bones. Your pulse pounded in time with the beat. A crush of bodies pressed all around you, everyone moving in a wild dance with no rhyme or reason. At some point during the night, someone had booted the radio in favor of their own tunes. Someone else had inflated a giant beach ball, and now it was bopping and floating its way around the house in a never-ending game of The Floor Is Lava.

Thirst drove you from the living room. You stumbled your way to the kitchen, laughing as you went. More than one person yelled your name and slapped you on the shoulder—or, in a few cases, pressed a sloppy kiss to your cheek. Apparently, your new neighbors appreciated a good party.

You didn’t quite remember where you had left your last can of beer. (To be honest, you were having trouble recalling much of anything.) It wasn’t too hard to find it, though. Like usual, no one else pulled the tabs off their cans. You took a long swig and let out a belch that would have made Timon and Pumbaa proud.

It was only when Rick walked into the kitchen, a look of panic bending his unibrow, that you noticed there were _two_ cans with no tab.

 

You blinked open bleary eyes. The AC must have really been struggling to keep up with the heat. A fine sheen of sweat coated your entire body. Your clothes felt uncomfortably tight somehow, like you fell asleep in them and now they were soaked. You tried to kick off the blankets, only to realize there weren’t any. You must’ve passed out on the couch instead of going to bed last night. Between the hot, sticky air and the relentless pounding against your skull, the urge to vomit was overwhelming.

Morty Smith’s round head appeared above you from behind the couch, and you let out a startled yelp.

“Take it easy,” he said. “How’re you feeling?”

You leaned over the edge, elbow digging into the cushion, and retched.

… Right onto Rick Sanchez’s ugly black shoes.


	3. Have A Nice Trip

“Not my fault she can’t handle her liquid xanthanite, Morty.”

“W-why did you—were you irresponsible enough to leave your—your _spiked drink_ unattended, Rick!”

The old man shrugged his shoulders and sipped from his flask. “I was gone for—” He burped. “Five minutes, tops.”

“Doing what!”

“Taking a shit.”

You watched grandfather and grandson bicker, eyes darting back and forth between the two as if your gaze was the ball in their verbal tennis match. Your eyelids grew heavier by the second. Rick had forbidden you from falling asleep, but even with him and Morty arguing right in front of you, it was difficult to stay alert. A muted chuckle filled your closed mouth. Both of them stopped talking and looked at you. Their eyebrows quirked up in exactly the same way, and the matching expression was too much; you began to laugh out loud. 

“What’s up with her?”

Morty threw his hands into the air. “How am I supposed to know, huh? I’m not the one who roofied her!”

“For the last time,” Rick said, letting out another belch, “that drink wasn’t meant for her! You think liquid xanthanite is easy to come by? Like—like I just load up on that shit at Costco and haul it home in the back of your dad’s station wagon? Two for the price of one?”

The teenager’s indignation on your behalf was almost sweet. He shook his oversized, round head and rested his fists on his hips like a disapproving parent. “Man, Rick, for someone so smart, you sure are dumb sometimes.”

“That’s it, you little ingrate—”

You closed your eyes. Or they closed on their own. Maybe it was a bit of both, because they were so heavy to keep open and you were tired of fighting it. The couch was warm from your body heat; Morty had found a blanket somewhere and draped it over your sweaty-yet-shivering form. The world felt comfortably hefty against your limbs, weighing them down. All you wanted to do was drift off, just for a few minutes.

“Cleaning can wait,” you muttered.

Suddenly, Rick’s voice was right in your ear. “No, no, no. C’mon, stay awake. Damn it! You better not waste another good trip, do you hear me! I wanna hear all about it when you wake up! Take notes!”

You tried to lift your eyelids back up. You really did.

“What the fuck, Rick,” Morty said. His were the last words you heard before your brain tuned everything out. “You—you don’t even know what it does?”

 

You jerked awake in your bedroom. The first thing you noticed was the absence of your neighbors. The second thing you noticed was the blessed cool temperature of the room. Then, it hit you: this wasn’t _your_ bedroom. Not your current one, anyway.

As if on cue, the best friend you had left behind in your old town burst through the door. “Get up! We have to go!”

“Go where?” You scrubbed at your face and tried to will away the throbbing sensation behind your eyes. “What time is it?” The words came from your mouth, but they felt strange, as if you hadn’t been the one to say them.

“Who cares? I’ve got front row tickets! Come on!”

Confused, you felt your body act on its own accord. You swung your feet out of bed—except _you_ didn’t—and stood up—except you _didn’t_. You tried to open your mouth and speak, but for some reason, your body wouldn’t obey your brain’s commands. You were paralyzed—except you weren’t.

You wanted to scream.

You couldn’t.

 

The next nightmare materialized from the old one, a swirling, writhing mass of color and sound that slowly solidified into something resembling the real world. You didn’t want to open your eyes, but your body left you no choice in the matter.

You stood in the new house.

Across from you, Gene Vagina was holding out a bouquet of roses.

_Is this what I think it is?_ Horror rose from your stomach and left a sour taste at the back of your mouth. On second thought, maybe it was vomit.  You struggled to look away, to change the scene, to do absolutely anything at all to prevent what was going to happen next…

Without permission, your hands took the bouquet and lifted the admittedly beautiful roses to your nose. You took a deep breath, the sweet fragrance a heady aroma in your unwilling nostrils. You made a futile attempt to gag.

“We’ve been seeing each other for a while now,” Gene said.

As if someone had shoved their hand up your ass and was wearing your body like a sock puppet, you replied in a chirpy voice: “Two months!”

Gene stepped closer. He ran a hand over the stubble of his shaved scalp and looked deep into your eyes. “I—I’ve grown to care about you. A lot. I was hoping… well, I was wondering—”

Mentally, you screamed so loud it surely would have torn your throat, had you been able to give it a voice. Instead your body chose to press a finger against his lips. Your nails were painted red. You _never_ painted your nails red. “I feel the same.”

He kissed you.

 

You didn’t want to watch the next ‘vision’. The ghost of Gene Vagina’s lips still lingered against yours. When your eyes opened, however, you couldn’t help but feel intrigued.

You were standing in the Smith’s garage.

“Hand me that screwdriver,” a voice next to you said.

_Rick!_ Hope sprang into your chest. _Man, am I glad to see you—you drugged me and now I’m stuck like this and I don’t know what to do, please, oh, god—_

“Here you go,” you said, totally ignoring your unspoken pleas for help.

The screwdriver passed from your hand to his larger, weathered one. Rick took it without even a glance in your direction. His gaze was laser-focused—literally—on a tiny device sitting on the countertop before him.

You wanted to stay and observe more, but you couldn’t, because—

 

Morty, Summer, and Beth sat opposite from you at what was presumably their dining table. Each of them held a hand of playing cards. Neat stacks of poker chips sat in front of everyone.

You were there long enough to draw one card—

 

Your best friend lounged next to you on your old bed. Both of you were laughing at some random TV show you couldn’t remember ever watching. What kindle of stupid title was _Ball Fondlers_ —

 

Hot bathwater soothed your aching muscles. You dropped a bath bomb into the tub, watched as it began to fizzle and foam—

 

“Oh, god, Rick,” you moaned, lifting your hips off the bed to meet his—

 

_What the fuck._ You flew off the couch, sending the blanket that had been resting across your body fluttering to the floor. Rick and Morty stumbled back. The old man was clutching that strange gun of his, the one with the glowing green fluid. His grandson, on the other hand, was holding out a glass of water toward you. Both of them looked alarmed, although Morty seemed far more concerned than his grandfather.

You gasped in great gulps of air. _You_ did. You filled your lungs as much as possible and then held your breath until they ached, just because you could. Then, with exaggerated care, you bent at the waist and lowered yourself back onto the couch.

“I think it’s time for you guys to go,” you said.

Morty placed the glass of water on the coffee table alongside dozens of empty bottles and stacked cans. You flicked your gaze around the room, taking in all the damage left behind in the party’s wake. A huge mess waited to be cleaned up, whenever you felt well enough to bother with it.

“What happened?” Rick demanded.

“Nothing,” you lied. “I just passed out.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“C’mon, Rick, let’s go,” Morty said. To you, he added, “If you need any help with—with cleaning, or, you know, anything—let me know.”

You shrugged, not one to turn down free help but not one to ask for it, either. “Be my guest.”

“Whatever. I’m out.” Rick pointed his strange gun at the nearest wall and fired. Green light flared to life, opening a circular hole large enough to fit at least a few people. The whole thing seemed to sort of… wobble… even as it swirled. If you had to guess, you would have called it a wormhole. Just as you’d seen him do inside his garage, Rick walked straight into it like it was nothing. As soon as he was gone, the wormhole vanished, collapsing in on itself.

You and Morty spent the rest of the day tidying up.


	4. Help A Rick Out

Three days later, not a single trace of your epic party remained in the house. All the new furniture had escaped without any stains or tears. Nobody broke any dishes or clogged the garbage disposal or overflowed the toilet. Nothing seemed to be stolen or missing. Between you and Morty, the house actually looked pretty damn fine. You had paid him for his help and thanked him repeatedly. If he snuck a few beers out of your fridge, you pretended not to notice.

Too bad it wasn’t as easy to get rid of the memories from your trip on liquid xanthanite. Every moment you weren’t busy, they haunted your thoughts with dogged determination. You stayed up well past bedtime that first night, trying in vain to put them out of your mind and get some much-needed rest. When you finally did manage to fall asleep, your dreams had an undeniable inspiration.

The next night wasn’t any better.

You dreamt of him—of Rick. Your unconscious mind took that split-second image of you two thrusting against each other and expounded on it in ever greater detail. Had you been awake, your entire face would have burned red with a baffling mix of embarrassment and arousal. Old men weren’t your thing. It wasn’t about the physical aspect of it, not really; even you could admit that Rick looked good for a man of his age. Hell, a small (very small, so small you would call it microscopic) part of you was apparently just fine with Gene Vagina. The school principal was _not_ your typical flavor, not even close, but you couldn’t deny what you had seen while under the influence. Apparently, your subconscious was trying to clue you in to a hitherto unknown fetish you had, making you dream of two aged men in a… _romantic_ sense.

You reminded yourself again and again that they had just been dreams—wild, drug and alcohol induced dreams that had no bearing on reality. You even started to believe that, before Rick showed up and proved you wrong.

The alarm clock read 10:07 pm. Both your eyelids hung heavy with exhaustion, but you couldn’t quite succumb to the siren song of sleep. You sprawled across the bed, the blankets a warm cocoon around you, with a pillow tucked under your chin. You stared at the TV, though you couldn’t have said for sure what show it was you were watching. The remote was in danger of falling from your dangling fingers.

Green light flared from the eastern wall.

You shrieked and rolled off the bed in a tangle of limbs and blankets. The TV remote clattered to the floor. Adrenaline shot through your system even as you realized what had happened and why there was a strange glow filtering across your ceiling like the refraction of sunlight through water. You clutched at the soft fabric of your pajama shirt, willing your racing heart to slow down.

Rick stood above you. He reeked of booze.

You wrinkled your nose. “Go away.” Your traitorous brain flashed an image of his naked torso across your thoughts.

“Not—” He burped. “—gonna happen.”

“What do you want?”

“You owe me,” he said. “You owe me for—for that liquid xanad—xanthanite.” He leaned over you, peering down through narrowed eyes. You watched as he swayed a little bit, despite him standing still. “You’re gonna help me get more. We’re gonna go get more, and that’s how you’re gonna pay me back.”

“Hmmm.” You squinted up at him and pretended to think about it. “No.”

“Did it sound like—” Another belch. “—like I was asking?”

Getting out of the blankets was a bit of a struggle. When you finally managed to stand up, a blush had begun to creep up on your cheeks. Standing there in an oversized baseball tee and no pants was not your idea of intimidating. Regardless, you faced down Rick, gave him a full force glare, and jabbed an accusing finger into his chest. “You think I owe you? _I_ owe _you_? You’re the one who drugged me, buddy, not the other way around.”

“So, it’s okay to chug random drinks at parties now?” His words were sharp, belying his drunkenness. The sweet scent of alcohol on his breath hit you square in the face. “Yeah, I’m so-o-o sorry that you _stole my beer_.”

“I’m not helping you,” you said through gritted teeth.

One skinny arm snaked out and wrapped around your shoulders. Long fingers clamped around your bicep with an iron grip. He began to drag you toward the still-open wormhole with a surprising amount of strength even as he tried to convince you to walk under your own free will. “There’s enough xanthanite where we’re going for each—for both of us. If you—if you come with me, I’ll split it with you.”

“Like I said, it just made me pass out—”

“Yeah, cut the bullshit,” he said. “If that was true, you wouldn’t have your panties all twisted up over me _drugging_ you.”

“I’m not wearing any panties!” Oh. Oh, no. What on earth possessed you to say that? Your cheeks flushed hotter than ever, and you tugged down the hem of your makeshift nightgown. “I mean—I’m not even dressed! To go anywhere! Why do you need me to help you, anyway?”

Rick dragged you another few feet toward the wormhole. You eyed the swirling green mass with equal doses of apprehension and curiosity. “I need a distraction,” he said.

You opened your mouth to protest, but he shoved you through before you could say anything.

 

“This… is your garage.” Disappointment colored your tone. Somehow, you had been expecting something else.

For once, the garage door was closed. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead. The floor felt coarse, cold, and dirty under your bare feet. You spun in a slow circle, taking in the one-to-two ratio of family storage and mad scientist laboratory. A mundane washer and dryer sat in one corner. Tools littered the room: a sledgehammer resting between two exposed studs; all manner of screwdrivers, everywhere; a full bucket and mop, though the liquid inside didn’t come close to looking like water. Then there was the weird shit. You were eyeballing a cardboard box labeled ‘TIME TRAVEL STUFF’ when something landed on your head and covered your face.

“Put that on,” Rick said from somewhere to your left.

You yanked the clothing off your head and insisted, “I’m not helping you.”

“Yeah, that was obvious. Look at you—” He belched wetly. “—you’re trying so hard to escape. Oh no, however will I catch you.”

You held up the offending garment in front of you. “This is a dress.”

“’I didn’t invite you’. ‘This is your garage’, Rick. ‘This is a dress’.” He dropped the falsetto tone from his voice and continued, “Are you capable of complex thought?”

“I think this dress is ugly. Does that count?” It looked at least ten years old, if not twenty. It smelled as old as it looked. Had he just grabbed it out of a storage container?

“Take it up with my daughter.”

“Why do I need to wear it?”

“Hey, if you _want_ to go out wearing a t-shirt and no underwear—”

You sighed and lowered the dress, holding it against your body. “Why, specifically, do you need _me_ to wear this dress and help you? You said you needed a distraction, and that tells me however you plan on getting this stuff, it isn’t legal. How did you get it the first time?”

He took a sip from his flask, but to your surprise, he bothered to give you an answer afterward. “Morty can’t help me on this one. He—uh—let’s just say too many people know him, where we’ll be going.”

A tense silence stretched between the two of you. Well, it was tense to you; Rick didn’t look like he gave a shit. You sighed again and rubbed at your temples, wishing you had a beer or two circulating through your system.

“If I help you—and that’s a big ‘if’—do you promise to leave me alone?”

The old man rolled his eyes. “Don’t steal any more of my stuff and you’ve got a deal.”

Ten minutes later, you were wearing a dress that didn’t fit quite right and a pair of flip-flops Rick insisted his granddaughter wouldn’t miss. He opened another wormhole in his garage—a ‘portal’, you learned—and gestured for you to walk through. You stepped forward, slow and unsure.

“Just act confused. That should be easy for you. You’ll be fine,” Rick said, trying to hurry you along.

You stared into the portal. “You never actually said where we’re going.”

“That’s for me to know and—” He burped. “—you to find out.”

He shoved you, a forceful push right in the center of your back. You stumbled forward with a squeak of surprise, straight into the swirling unknown.

 

You landed on a gleaming metal floor, hands and knees slapping against the cold surface. As soon as you were on your feet again, you whirled around, ready to give Rick a piece of your mind—

And stared straight down the long barrel of a gun.

At Rick.

Behind him was the portal he’d pushed you through. It collapsed, winking out with a small splatter of green fluid that evaporated into thin air, revealing a plain white metal wall and door. You looked from the weird rifle pointed between your eyes to the man doing the pointing. He didn’t make you change into some old hand-me-downs just to execute you… right?

“What the fuck, Rick!”

“State your dimension and purpose here, civilian!”

“Holy fucking shit, stop pointing that thing at me!”

He pressed the barrel into your forehead. You flinched but didn’t move. Blood pounded in your ears, your heart hammering out a staccato beat against your ribs. “Dimension and purpose! Now!”

Confusion short-circuited your racing thoughts as you noticed a detail you’d missed at first glance. When Rick had shoved you into the portal, he’d been wearing his usual getup: blue sweater, brown trousers, white lab coat, and ugly black shoes. Now he was wearing a similar outfit, but it was definitely different. The sweater was dark teal, concealed under a buttoned white coat. Black leather gloves covered his hands and forearms; on his feet were matching boots. A smaller firearm was strapped to his outer thigh. On his chest was a golden pin shaped in what looked like a stylized ‘R’. Was this part of the distraction? How the hell had he changed so quickly?

The door behind Rick opened just a crack.

Ice flooded your veins. “What the fuck—”

Inside the door, obscured by shadows, was Rick—another Rick—the Rick who had pushed you through the portal, if the way he was shushing you was any indication.  He pressed a finger to his lips in the universal ‘quiet’ gesture before soundlessly closing the door.

The Rick _in front of you_ narrowed his eyes.

“Uhhh.” You tried to think of something to say. Anything. Unfortunately, your mind was tied up in the implications of multiple Ricks. If there was more than one Rick—and how was that even possible—did that… did that mean… Oh, god. This Rick had asked for your _dimension_. Portals didn’t just travel across space; they were also bridges to other dimensions. You closed your eyes and forced yourself to remain standing.

“Last chance,” Rick said.

Those damn hallucinations. They hadn’t been figments of your imagination at all. You were willing to bet money on it. Somewhere, some _when_ , a version of you that favored red nail polish was probably going to fuck, marry, and have kids with Gene Vagina.

“All right, have it your way.” The safety clicked off.

You opened your eyes and gave Rick a smirk that hopefully passed for sultry. “Oh, I get it. You know, if you wanted to roleplay, you could just ask. No need to shove me through a portal.” You raked your eyes up and down his tall figure, all the while hoping to hell this ruse of yours would work. “I do love a man in uniform.”

His flat expression didn’t change… but he wasn’t shooting you, either.

“Got any handcuffs to go with that badge, _sir_?” You held out your arms, wrists up, and made sure to press your boobs together with your elbows.

The Rick glanced up and down the long hallway in which the two of you stood. He seemed satisfied with whatever he was looking for, because when his face turned back to you, he lowered his rifle. Then he did something you weren’t expecting.

He pulled you against him, mouth capturing yours in a rough kiss.

You froze, just for a moment. Your thoughts fell silent, your mind blank with shock. The feel of his lips against yours—harsh, demanding—was equal parts infuriating and… arousing. You stared in wonder at his closed eyes as his tongue caressed your lips and invaded your mouth. The rifle clattered to the floor. His whole body pressed against you, pushed you back, pinned you to the wall behind you. At some point, your hands migrated to the back of his head without permission. At some point, you started to kiss him back.

There was just one problem.

“Hey, dumbass.”

Both of you sprang apart. Eyes you hadn’t been aware of closing snapped open. Guilt churned in your belly; shame colored your cheeks. In the doorway stood Rick—your neighbor Rick. He stepped forward, raised the butt of the other Rick’s rifle, and slammed it down against his skull. The other Rick toppled to the metal floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut. He hadn’t even had time to draw his sidearm.

You couldn’t quite look your Rick in the eye. You ended up staring at his chin. Thankfully, he wasn’t in the mood to discuss what had just happened. He slung the rifle over one shoulder and hoisted an overloaded backpack onto the other. Then he pointed his portal gun at the wall and fired.

“Let’s go,” he said before running through.

You followed him without a word.

 


	5. It's Five O'Clock Somewhere

You paced circles around the Smith’s quiet garage, the borrowed flip-flops slapping against your heels with every step. Rick was ignoring you—or you were ignoring him. Neither of you had bothered to make it clear to the other one just who was doing the ignoring, but that suited you just fine. A maelstrom of warring thoughts and emotions prevented you from doing anything else.

All of them agreed on one thing, though: Rick was a damn good kisser. So good, in fact, the illicit act replayed in your mind what felt like every five seconds. It was on an endless loop, a seamless GIF, and you found something new to focus on with every viewing.

How his lips had pressed against yours with such urgency…

The strength with which he’d held you to that wall, trapping you between his arms…

The way he’d looked when he caught you kissing himself.

And _that_ was the bucket of cold water that kept dousing your, ahem, _eager_ memory. The Rick you had kissed was not the Rick you knew. Regardless, it was high time to face the music. Now that shit had happened, you couldn’t deny it. You didn’t see it before because you hadn’t wanted to see it, but the truth was you had a terrible crush on the old man next door. You’d been harboring one for weeks. You were just too thick to realize it. Even worse, you never would have realized it if not for Rick and his damned xanthanite.

You stole a glance at the subject of your thoughts.

He kneeled in front of an open cupboard, unloading his ill-gotten goods from the backpack. Dozens upon dozens of vials of the bright purple liquid filled it. He had offered to split the loot. You wondered if the proposition had been sincere or just a ploy to get you to do what he wanted.

“What are going to do with it?” Too late, you realized you had broken the silence.

He answered without even looking at you. “Test it out, synthesize it, find other applications for it.” He let out a long burp. “G-get high. Probably not in that order.”

“Do you know what it does?”

“You clearly do. Care to share?” Rick drawled, finally deigning to quirk a brow in your direction.

You bit the inside of your lip and returned to pacing in circles. After a few more minutes, you asked, “Why didn’t you warn me?”

“Wh-what? About what?”

“Don’t play stupid,” you said. “The other Rick. The fact that your portal gun is a form of interdimensional travel.”

“I needed a distraction.” He stood up and turned to face you, taking out the flask from inside his coat. “You did what I needed you to do. If I’d told you everything beforehand, you—you would’ve fucked it all up. As for ‘the other Rick’, how—how do you know he wasn’t my twin? Huh? My estranged twin b-brother?”

Red anger flashed across your vision. You came to an abrupt stop right in front of him. “Oh, so the ‘R’ pin stood for… I don’t know… Roger? And he just happened to share your terrible fashion sense?” You held up your hand and ticked the reasons off on your fingers. “Hmm, well, first: he straight up _asked for my dimension_! Second, he seemed pretty okay with letting me think he was you! And third, you drugged me with that—that— _xanthanite,_ and I fucking _saw—_ ” Your mouth snapped shut with an audible click of your teeth, but it was too late.

Rick crowed with triumph. “Ha! I knew it!”

“Knew what, exactly! That xanthanite makes you a prisoner in your own fucking body, except it isn’t really your body, and you have to sit there and watch and feel and smell and _listen_ to yourself do all these crazy things you’d never in a million years even think about—”

“Whoa, whoa, slow—slow down there.”

“You fucking knew what it was, and you just left it sitting there—”

“Dad?” That single word was like a spike stripe to a car tire. Your temper fled at the appearance of Beth just inside the interior door, who looked very much like she’d been woken up by angry shouting— _your_ angry shouting. She stood there, robe held closed against her body, and stared first at her father before turning her puzzled gaze to you. She looked you up and down before rubbing at the deep circles under her eyes. “Why is the neighbor wearing my prom dress?”

You scowled at her casual dismissal. “I’m standing right here.”

“What the fuck, Beth.” Rick’s belch erupted behind you, right in your ear. “This is your prom dress? As—as in the prom—?”

She rested her forehead in her palm. “Not important right now, Dad.”

You stepped away from Rick, folding your arms. To Beth, you said, “Okay, look, I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I know it’s a weeknight, and I’m sure you have to work in the morning. Probably best I just head home, anyway. We’re all done with… what we were doing. It won’t happen again.”

You left without saying goodbye.

 

Two weeks. Well, more like 17 days, but you weren’t counting or anything.

That first weekend, you’d gotten smashed at the neighborhood bar with some of the regulars. More than one familiar face bought you a drink or two. In a way, it was nice to get out and socialize. Bars weren’t really your thing, but it beat getting drunk at home, alone, tempted by the open garage next door. It also kept you from drowning in the hurricane of your own thoughts.

And oh, did you have thoughts.

In the grand scheme of things there existed multiple dimensions. Traveling between dimensions was possible. A person could exist in more than one dimension. That much was easy enough to understand. What kept you up at night were the questions. How many dimensions were there? Did a person exist in all dimensions, or only some, or maybe even only a few? Was there such a thing as a unique person? And just because Rick had an unknown number of versions of himself roaming around the multiverse, was each Rick fundamentally the same?

You spent a lot of time thinking about what you had seen while under the influence of xanthanite, combing over the details with a more critical eye. Other versions of you obviously hadn’t moved away from home yet. Other versions of you had a different sense of style, if the red nail polish was anything to go by. Hell, ‘you’ even liked things that didn’t exist in your own reality. You’d spent one drunken evening scouring the internet for a show or movie called _Ball Fondlers_ and came up empty-handed.

On some nights, when you’d had one too many beers, your musings took a darker turn.

There was probably a wealthy version of you out there. Assuming you obtained some way to travel to that dimension, what was stopping you from murdering yourself and taking your place? (Did that count as suicide?) Would anyone even know the difference? It was only logical that the alternate you would be an exact copy, as far as genetic makeup went. You wouldn’t be _you_ without your parents, and if your parents hadn’t banged, you wouldn’t exist. But what constituted… _you_?

Were there any religious copies? What about ethnicities? You imagined a rainbow of you, of all shapes and sizes and colors. What about genders? A male you? Gay, bisexual, transgender?

Was there a ‘default’ you? An original?

Were you just a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy—

Two weeks you spent trying to purge infinity from your mind. All you accomplished, however, was considerable progress toward cirrhosis.

 

Rick was waiting for you in the living room when you got home from work on the seventeenth day. You considered walking back out the door, maybe heading to the bar. After a long moment, you threw your briefcase aside and toed off your shoes.

“Is there some sort of anti-portal device I can buy? I’ve got this asshole neighbor, no concept of boundaries, see—”

“Oh, ha ha, you’re a real comedian.” He rolled his eyes but otherwise didn’t move from his seat on your couch. He’d made himself comfortable while waiting, you noticed, eyeing the open can of beer sitting on the coffee table. The TV was on, too, the six o’clock news just getting started.

“You promised to leave me alone if I agreed to help,” you said, sitting down on the catty-corner loveseat. It was as far away from him as you could get without leaving the room.

“Yeah, well, l-looks—” A belch distorted his words. “—like neither of us kept our end of the deal.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Got Beth’s prom dress around here anywhere?”

“Oh, crap—"

Rick held up a hand before you could spring to your feet. “Relax. She hasn’t even asked about it. S-sh-she doesn’t give a shit.”

“Then why—?”

“Just wanted to make it clear _I’m_ not the one who broke the deal first.” He reached into his lab coat and drew out what looked like a pair of virtual reality goggles. Chunky, white plastic encased the device with thick black polyester webbing for the headband. The old man leaned forward and put it on your coffee table. “Th-this is a prototype. Use it, don’t use it, I don’t give a fuck.”

You had a feeling you already knew what it was, but still, it didn't hurt to ask. “What is it?”

Rick took his time chugging the rest of his beer before he replied, finishing with a wet burp that sent spittle dripping from his lip. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his lab coat sleeve. “Xanthanite without the bad acid trip. You were—you were right. That shit sucks.” He gestured to the goggles. “These scan your retinas and allow you to view parallel dimensions through genetically identical versions of your eyeballs.”

“So… you took it, then?”

“That’s what I just said.”

You bit the inside of your lip. “So—I’m just curious—”

He stood up with a sigh. “Yeah, a few versions of me a-and a few versions of you are in a sexual relationship. I saw it, too.”

A strange blend of hurt, humiliation, and something else you didn’t want to identify burned your cheeks. His bored tone made you feel slighted. You scowled and said, “That’s _not_ what I was going to ask, Mr. Know-It-All.”

“Oh, my bad.” He removed his portal gun from a pocket. “I just assumed that’s what had your non-existent panties in a twist.”

You stood up, too, doing your best to will the heat in your face away. “How do you deal with it? Knowing there are so many versions of the same damn thing out there? Like—what’s the point of all this?”

“Want my suggestion?” Rick shrugged. “Don’t think about it.”

He opened a portal in front of the entertainment center. Just as he was about to leave, you moved forward and reached out a hand. You stopped just short of grabbing his arm. He stared at you, one half of his unibrow quirked in obvious puzzlement.

“Thank you,” you managed to say, your voice little more than a whisper. The blush still hadn’t died down from your cheeks. At this rate, it was probably going to take all night to go away. You made your move before you lost all your courage, inching up on the tips of your toes, and you pressed a soft kiss to his jaw—as high as you could reach.

Rick looked away. “Y-yeah, well, don’t get used to it.”

He stepped into the portal and was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I appreciate everyone who has taken the time to leave a comment or kudos. It really keeps the motivation going, y'know? 
> 
> Next chapter will be an interlude of sorts. Reader is gonna put on those goggles and explore the multiverse! If you have a Rick/Reader scene you would like to see, feel free to request it. Sexual, non-sexual, it doesn't matter.
> 
> 06.19.2018: Hey. Long time, no update. How you guys doing? Good, I hope? So, uh... Sorry for the wait!


	6. In Another Life...

D-024

You stacked the last box into the back of the moving van and stretched with a groan. Then you wiped at your sweaty brow with the back of an equally sweaty hand. “Whew! Finally finished!”

As you turned around, the tearful face of your mother filled your vision. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes and pulled you into an almost desperate embrace. “Oh, my baby is leaving me!”

Laughing, you wrapped your arms around her. “I’m not dying, Mom.”

 

D-031

You leaned into Rick’s shoulder, mouth stretched with laughter—

 

D-044

Wind whistled through the cracked window of the old Chevy Corsica. You cranked it down lower, taking a deep breath of cool air as you navigated through the empty city streets. Not many people were out at three in the morning, but then again, not many people stayed until the bar closed on a Tuesday night.  Counting yourself lucky there weren’t many other cars on the road, you suppressed a yawn and turned up the radio.

It only took twenty minutes to get home, but you swore the trip was taking longer. Every time you checked the dashboard, however, the speedometer claimed you were going the speed limit.

Another yawn. You squeezed your eyes shut, hand pressed over your mouth. It was only for a second.

Just one second.

Metal screeched as the windshield imploded. Glass shards rained across the dashboard. Your whole body jerked forward, the seatbelt an unyielding jolt against your torso. Something snapped—

 

* * *

_You tore the goggles from your head, breathing hard. You balled your hands into fists to stop them from shaking, but that didn’t work. A drink, you needed a drink…_

_When you tried to go back to D-044, you couldn’t._

* * *

 

D-190

Elbow-deep in dog, Beth was the only one not in panic mode. She snapped out orders left and right, only pausing to tear her cardigan into makeshift bandages with her _teeth_. “Summer, call the emergency clinic. Morty, go grab the first aid kit out of the kitchen. You—I can’t bandage his leg one-handed! Get down here!”

You obeyed without question, dropping to your knees on the asphalt. Between the two of you, the injured dog whimpered. “Tell me what to do,” you said.

Jerry, looking very green, crept forward, wringing his hands. “Wh-what about me? I can help with… something…”

The look Beth leveled at him could’ve boiled water. “Go sit in the car, Jerry. You can help by not running over anything else.”

E-237A

An endless string of warm, white lights wove through the pavilion support beams overhead. Dozens of candles in all heights and colors sat across every flat surface, their flames dancing in the balmy evening air. All was silent, save for the soft sound of crickets chirping in the surrounding woods.

“What is all this?” you managed to ask through the growing lump in your throat.

A pair of long-fingered hands rested on your shoulders. Body heat radiated against your back as a tall someone leaned in close. Their husky reply tingled against your ear: “I’m trying to _romance_ you. Duh.”

Unable to keep the grin off your face, you turned around and went up on tiptoe to press a fervent kiss against Rick’s mouth—

 

E-237J

The pavilion was empty and quiet. Technically, you weren’t supposed to be here; the park wasn’t open after ten, but since there were no gates or security, you figured it was fair game. With a sigh, you flicked open a pack of cigarettes and took a lighter out from your pocket—

 

E-237A

—titled your head to the side, letting out a hiss of pleasure as his lips found that sensitive spot right below your ear—

 

E-237J

—just you and the sound of crickets. You let out one long stream of smoke—

 

E-400

Egyptian cotton, smooth as silk, fell from your fingertips, the whole sheet sliding down the length of your body to pool on the floor. You shifted your hips far left, emphasizing the curve of your waist, and made sure to keep your shoulders back. Your nipples, already pebbled, grew painfully tight as goosebumps swept across your limbs.

You stood there, naked, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Behind you, the director let out a sigh that trailed off into a frustrated growl. “Cut!” Something clattered to the ground—probably his clipboard.

In front of you, your co-stars continued their make out session on the bed unperturbed. Identical sets of hands grasped at one another, tugged on hair, clawed at shoulders. The Ricks seemed oblivious to the fact they were holding up an entire scene. Not that you were complaining, of course. You bit the inside of your lip as one Rick rolled the other onto his back.

Those moans. Those muscles. Those _asses_.

“Hey! Fucktards!” You jumped, not having noticed the director getting up to stand beside you. “We aren’t paying you to fuck each other. Ricks can do that for free. What they _want_ to see is you two idiots fucking _her_ ,” he said, jabbing a finger at you. “We’re selling a fantasy here, people, not a sad reality!”

The two Ricks on the bed pulled apart and sat up. Their gazes remained locked, eyes hungry. “Sad reality for _him_ , maybe,” one of them muttered.

Silently, you agreed.

 

E-476B

High heels clicked against the sidewalk as you made your way back to the apartment. This was not your favorite street, not even your favorite hood. It was too close to Morty Town, but orders were orders. You went wherever _he_ sent you, no questions asked. On the upside, at least the fuzz was pretty lax on this part of the Citadel.

The walk went slow. Some yellow shirt was stupid enough to proposition you, but it didn’t take long to send him packing. Getting a Morty to take no for an answer was never difficult.

A Rick, on the other hand…

You didn’t like him from the moment you saw him. He wasn’t like the others. The Citadel does strange things to a Rick, makes them lose a flicker of something in the eyes. They never look quite right, not like… well, not like _your_ Rick, god rest his soul. This one was all Rick and then some. His gaze was sharp and far too intelligent. He looked you over from head to toe with a single glance, and that was enough. He pushed away from the wall he had been leaning against and sauntered toward you, white lab coat flapping open to reveal a black sweater underneath. An old scar across his mouth tugged at his skin as he gave you a smirk.

You stared into those piercing eyes with their dark circles and tried to think of an excuse. “Hey, I’m not—”

He held out a wad of cash so thick, the words died on your tongue.

You went with him.

 

F-969A

“Gib mir den Schraubenzieher,” sagte Rick.

“Flachkopf?” Fragte Morty.

Du hast die Augen verdreht und ihm den Philips geworfen.

“Zumindest hält jemand mit,” Murmelte Rick.

 

H-531

His fingers splayed across your hips as he pulled you close. In the unlit gloom of the garage, it was hard to see anything. Pinpricks of sunlight filtered in through the blinds covering the window to the far right. You could just make out the silhouette of him towering over you, crazy gray hair blending in with the shadows. The feel of his body heat combined with the loss of vision was enough to make your pulse race. Who knew darkness could feel so intimate?

The hands on your hips guided you backwards until your ass bumped into something cool and metal—the washer, maybe, or the dryer. Rick moved forward, nudging your legs apart with his own. You took in a quick, sharp breath as one of the hands snaked from your hip to your crotch. He cupped you tight, applying just the right amount of pressure through your blue jeans. You let out a shuddering exhale and ground against his palm.

How long had it been since you two had a moment alone? You couldn’t remember the last time you weren’t working or hanging out with Beth or waiting—

The heel of his hand pressed harder against you, his rough lips capturing yours just in time to silence a groan. You settled for deepening the kiss, tongues mingling, as you hummed your appreciation. Your fingers fumbled with his belt, tugged at his zipper—

Light. Stupid bright light.

You flinched at the sudden intrusion and broke away, face already heating up in mortification. You snatched your hands away from the obvious bulge in Rick’s pants as if burned.

Jerry stood in the doorway, slack jawed and eyes wide.

Rick picked up the nearest thing, a bottle of fabric softener, and chucked it at his son-in-law’s head. “Stop being a fucking cockblock, Jerry!”

“Ouch! Hey!” He at least had the decency to look embarrassed. “How was I even supposed to know you were in here?”

“The garage is off limits, _Jerry_.”

“Yeah, but you said you weren’t going—”

“Get the fuck out, Jerry!” Both of them turned to stare at you. Neither of them looked nearly as surprised as you felt. You clapped a hand over your mouth before you could say anything else out of turn. “Sorry,” you muttered from between your fingers.

Rick laughed and flipped Jerry the bird. “You heard the lady! Out!”

 

K-309C

“Oh my god, is this a _daycare_ for _Jerries_?” You frowned at the implications and wondered just how other versions of Rick treated other versions of you.

 

M-042A

—your  bed in your childhood home. How depressing to be living with parents at your age—

 

O-910B

“Push, honey, push!” Gene said, clutching your hand between both of his.

“Don’t ‘honey’ me, you as—” Your voice cut off in a scream as another contraction ripped through your abdomen.

 

Q-190X

“Richelle, wait!” you said, a little breathless from jogging across the front yard.

The neighbor turned, her white lab coat flapping around in the breeze. She pushed back a stray lock of gray hair and quirked one half of her unibrow. “What do y- _you_ want?”

“Have you seen Morticia? She’s late for our tutoring session.”

You hadn’t even finished speaking before Richelle continued walking toward the front door of the Smith-Sanchez house. “Don’t know, don’t care,” the older woman called over her shoulder.

 

U-001

“Nothing personal.” Rick maintained the flat, emotionless mask even as he took a swig from his flask. The dull tone of his voice was like a rusty knife straight through your heart. “It was fun while it lasted.”

You wanted to wrap your arms around him. Instead, you hugged yourself tight, afraid to let go in case you flew apart. “So, that’s it. You’re leaving.”

“Beth doesn’t want me here.” He shrugged. “The kids don’t want me here. I sure as hell don’t need them. I’ve got bigger and better things to do.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Disagreeing wouldn’t do any good, and it wasn’t like you had envisioned a future with him involving 2.5 kids, a dog, and a white picket fence, right? Something caught in your throat, a softball-sized lump of fire. You blinked at the sudden rush of tears stinging at your eyes.  “But—”

Rick sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be."

A cross between a snort and sob escaped you. He really was dumping you; at least you were both dressed for the occasion, in your funeral black. Somehow, you managed to choke out, “I want to come with you.”

He pulled out the portal gun from the inside of his suit jacket. “Why? So you can end up like Jerry?”

You knew right then and there you would never see him again.

 

* * *

_The battery died. You removed the goggles, sat down on the couch, and spent a good ten minutes staring at nothing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 06.21.2018: Shout out to UnluckyAmulet for inspiring me to get off my ass and finish this chapter. Thank you to everyone who has read and continues to read this story. I can't believe it's already been a year since I first posted it.


	7. Knock Knock

“Have you met me before?” You strolled into the Smith’s garage, making sure to keep your tone polite and casual. “Other versions of me, I mean.”

Rick sat behind the wooden table on an old office chair. Spread out in front of him were bits of technology, like a lepidopterist studying his latest specimen. A small pink crystal twirled between his idle fingers. “‘Hey there, Rick. Gee, thanks for letting me have first dibs on this amazing new technology, I mean—I mean, gosh, that’s just so nice of you—’”

“It isn’t new.” You placed the interdimensional goggles on the tabletop between the two of you, right on top of his dissected machinery, then stepped back and crossed your arms. “We stole the xanthanite from… some other version of you… so, obviously you aren’t the first one who came up with it. I’ll bet you aren’t even the first Rick to invent that portal gun, right? And quit avoiding the question. Just how often in the grand scheme of things do you and I cross paths?”

He glanced up from his work for just a split second, brow furrowed in a glare. Then he picked up the goggles and gave them a careless toss onto the countertop behind him. “Technically? Infinite versions of me have met infinite versions of you.”

“Still not answering the question.”

“You know, I’m trying—I’m trying to get things done. I’ve got _wooork_ to do,” he said, stretching out ‘work’ with a burp. “If you can’t be helpful—and let’s face it, that’s impossible—then at least be quiet.”

Anger sparked in the pit of your belly, but you did your best to swallow it. He wasn't going to weasel out of this one. “Fine. I’ll wait. I have all day.”

It wasn’t the answer he was expecting, judging by the way his eyes narrowed. Regardless, you cast your gaze about the room for something to sit on. Rick occupied the only seat in the garage, but there was an empty mop bucket over in the corner. You grabbed it, flipped it over, and hesitated for a second before placing it next to him. Reassured by his lack of reaction, you sat down. Your legs brushed. You smothered the impulse to jerk your knee away. His stayed where it was, too; either he didn’t notice or didn’t care.

The mess on the table drew your attention. “Hey, wait.” You picked up a thumb drive—or what had looked like one at first glance. “A Roku?”

Not just a Roku. Amid the rest of the mess, you spotted the discarded shell of a PlayStation, something that looked like a naked Xbox, and… was that a cable box? Rick stopped fidgeting with the pink crystal in his hand and shoved it into a pocket. He snatched the Roku stick away from you and put it back on the table.

“Don’t—don’t touch my stuff,” he said.

“Answer my questions and I’ll leave you alone,” you countered.

The old man snorted. “That’s the lamest attempt at extortion I’ve ever heard. Besides—” He let out a belch. “I—I think if you really wanted to be _left alone_ , you wouldn’t have bothered coming over here in the first place.”

Your face began to heat up, but you ignored it. “Well, maybe I wouldn’t have bothered coming over here if the battery on your _amazing new_ technology had lasted longer than a few hours—”

“Oh, no-no-no! Why don’t you make a device that literally transcends time and space, and we’ll see how long _your_ battery lasts.” He took out his flask from inside his coat and made a shooing motion with it. “Go on. I’m waiting.”

You stood up from the bucket, sending it sliding back across the floor, and threw your hands into the air in frustration. “See, this is what I’m talking about!”

Rick’s unibrow lifted. “You’ve lost me.”

“I mean, you’re all bark and no bite.” You glared down at him. “You’ve actually been really nice to me, despite all this… _snark_. You stuck around when I was strung out on a crazy alien drug. You let me use those goggles for apparently no reason whatsoever. And now, here I am, being an utter nuisance according to you, but are you doing anything about it? No.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you raised your hand and kept talking. “Look, in over half of the dimensions I’ve seen, you and I are—friends, or something. And when I _don’t_ meet you, things are just…” You raked your fingers through your hair and very specifically did not think about Gene Vagina. “Fuck it. Good luck with whatever you’re working on. Sorry to interrupt.”

You strode out of the garage without bothering to gauge his reaction. The walk back home was brisk and short. As you flopped down onto your living room couch, you let out a curse; Rick had never answered the original question.

 

The next day, you decided it didn’t matter how many versions of you Rick did or didn’t know.

 

One week later, you also concluded that it didn’t matter what those other versions decided to do with their own lives, in their own dimensions. You were _you_ , damnit, and your destiny would not be dictated by interdimensional statistics.

 

One month after that, you bit the bullet and downloaded Tinder. Jumping feet first into the dating pool was always a good way to get over a stubborn crush. You were swiping through profiles, enjoying a relaxing evening at home ( _left, left, left…)_ when the doorbell rang. For a long minute, you were fine ignoring it; pajamas and unkempt hair did not a hostess make. When the ringing stopped and the knocking started, however, you stood up with a sigh. 

Intent on giving the unwanted caller a piece of your mind, you stomped toward the front door—only to stop dead in your tracks when you saw who it was through the sidelight window.

“Rick?” You flicked on the porch light and opened the door. “Uh… can I help you?”

He lifted a six pack of beer, shrugging his shoulders. “I was thinking, you know, I might watch a movie.”

You waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. Leaning against the door frame, you smirked and said, “So, you don’t have a TV? Your power is out? You’re fresh out of popcorn and would like to know if I have any? Please tell me there’s a prize for guessing correctly.”

Looking like he would much rather strangle you than offer you a beer, he said through gritted teeth, “I was _thinking_ you might want to watch a movie with me.”

“Hmm, I don’t know if I’m intelligent enough to follow anything more complicated than, say, _Sesame Street_ —”

“Suit yourself. Beth’s not home, Morty is working with Jerry on some _lame_ science project, and Summer has this stupid new job working for the devil. I mean, you were—you are literally the last person I would choose to hang out with.” He spun on his heel and started to walk away. “I was really just trying to do you a favor, you know, since it’s not like you live with family or anything. You aren’t as _luuucky_ as I am!”

It would have been easy to let him go back home. It probably would’ve been the right thing to do. Instead, you stepped back, opened the door wider, and called out: “If you’re that bored, then come inside. I’ll order a pizza.”

To your surprise, he turned around.

You like to think it was against his better judgement, too, that he stayed.

 

When you invited Rick into your home, the last thing you expected him to do was start breaking shit. Rifle through your stuff, sure. Raid your fridge, of course. But ripping apart your game system with all the grace of a bear tearing through a campsite? That was a little out of line. You could do nothing but watch, mouth agape, as he yanked out wires and unscrewed parts.

“What are you doing?” you asked after finally finding your voice.

He removed a familiar pink crystal from his coat and held it up. “This little baby is what powered those interdimensional goggles.”

Impressed, your eyebrows rose. “So… crystallized xanthanite.”

“Bingo,” he said, plugging it into the system. “Now we can play games or watch movies or whatever from every conceivable reality. Infinite entertainment from infinite universes!”

And oh, it was _awesome_.

The two of you watched a mind-blowing rendition of _Star Wars_ —which, go figure, starred actual aliens. Then you explored a gritty, apocalyptic _Pokémon_ MMORPG where the creatures were as violent as they were cute. By the time the pizza arrived, you had to admit a couple things to yourself.

First, Rick Sanchez defied all expectation. You had anticipated a night of trading barbed insults with a sarcastic curmudgeon. Instead, he was… pleasant. Polite, even. Not once did he insult you or your intelligence. When he got up to get another beer from the kitchen, he even brought you back one, too. You also found out the two of you shared a common love for video games; turns out the old man was a big fan of the Nintendo 3DS.

How much fun you were having with him was almost shocking—which, of course, led to the second realization.

You were still crushing on him. Hard.

Something as simple as sitting next to him on the couch sent your pulse skyrocketing. Every one-liner and joke of his made you crack up. You wrote it off as being somewhat tipsy, but deep down, you wondered how true that was.

One thing still bothered you, though, even after so many weeks.

“Rick.” He didn’t look away from the TV. “Hey, Rick.”

He finally glanced at you, half of that ridiculous unibrow quirked up. You hesitated, biting the inside of your lip. Was it really a good idea to try and ask him again? What if it made him leave?

You mustered your courage and said, “I was just wondering—” The house began to vibrate. A strange buzzing sound, duller than airplane, filled the air. Blue light flooded in through curtains and windows, growing brighter as the weird noise grew louder. You stood up and went to the door. Rick was quick to follow. “What the hell—”

Morty _beamed down_ onto the front porch.

A sudden whoosh, and both the light and noise were gone. The kid blinked and scratched at his head, glancing between his house and yours. After a moment, he knocked on the door.

Rick reached around your stunned, motionless figure and opened it. “Morty, hey. What’s going on?”

Face growing even more confused, the teen stared at the two of you. “Rick? What—What’re you doing here?”

You and Rick both looked at each other and said, “Hanging out.”

“All right…” Morty shook his head. “Um, listen, can you help me do the stupid science fair project?”

Less than a minute later, you waved them goodbye as they began the short walk back home.

You tried not to feel disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 06.26.18: I made a [tumblr](https://kishovra.tumblr.com/). I have no idea what to do with it. Come say hi?


	8. Unwanted Visitors

Late morning sunlight bathed your bedroom in hues of gold. You blinked awake, feeling one hundred percent rested for once. Your head didn’t hurt. Your knees didn’t ache. A soft, plump throw pillow from the living room was wedged between your legs. Sitting on the nightstand next to the bed was a glass of water.

Something was _very_ wrong.

You shot out of bed, legs tangling with the sheets and blankets. You stumbled and fell, spilling the water all over the alarm clock as you went—the alarm clock that hadn’t rung two hours ago like it was supposed to. “God fucking damnit!” A swift kick to the throw pillow sent it sailing across the room. It smacked against the wall and slid down with a soft ‘whump’. “I’m late for work!”

You reached for your cell, but it was gone. Not on the nightstand. Not hidden in the bedding. Not on the floor or under the dresser. You cursed again and flung open your bedroom door with more force than necessary.

“Morning, babe!” Rick said.

On a kneejerk reaction, you slammed the door in his face.

“Babe?” His muffled voice actually sounded concerned. “Uh, you okay in there?”

‘Babe?’ you mouthed, voiceless. You shook your head and rubbed at each temple. All right, in the privacy of your own thoughts, you could admit it: _maybe_ you had a slight problem with alcohol. _But_ —and that ‘but’ was very important—getting black-out drunk was not your cup of tea. You would have remembered something like Rick spending the night. Hell, you hadn’t even seen the man in days!

“What’s going on in there?” another voice said from the hallway.

“No clue,” Rick said. “She just woke up.”

Someone rapped their knuckles against the door. After waiting for a moment, they knocked again, harder and faster. “You have three seconds to exit the bedroom.” In a flood of confusion, you realized your mind wasn’t playing any tricks; the second voice was Rick, too.

“Three!”

Why the hell were there _Ricks_ in your hallway—

“Two!”

Was either one of them your neighbor? What were they gonna do, break down the door—

“One!”

Green light flared from the floor underneath your feet, pressing pause on your panicky thoughts. You sank through the portal in the blink of an eye, the strange sensation of freefalling from your own bedroom not unlike a sudden rollercoaster drop. Down you went, clawing at the air in a futile attempt to stay aloft. You fell straight onto your living room couch. The landing was a bit rough, but at least it didn’t hurt. Much.

You stood up on shaky legs, blood pounding in your ears. Four Ricks and four Mortys had set up shop inside your house, each one an indistinguishable copy of the others. They all wore a familiar uniform: a buttoned white coat, black boots and gloves, and a sidearm strapped to the outer thigh. Stylized ‘R’ badges glinted against their chests.

“Who’s the Rick in charge,” you said, trying hard to keep your voice flat.

“That would be me,” a sixth Rick said as he descended the stairs. A seventh one followed him.

A shiver raced down your spine. Your feet took a large step back, the back of your knees bumping into the coffee table. It wasn’t just the invasion of your home that had you rattled—you _recognized_ this Rick, knew him from a brief glance across timelines. Forgetting that distinctive lip scar and those piercing, dark-circled eyes would be impossible. As your rational mind caught up with your emotions, you stood up straight and balled your hands into fists. Now was not the time to be afraid.

He was even more intimidating in person than he had been through a screen. Where other Ricks simply walked, this one _prowled_. He came closer, hands clasped behind his back, and stopped just on the opposite side of the couch.

You tilted your chin up and looked him straight in the eye. “What are you doing here?”

Thankfully, he seemed to interpret the question as more of a royal ‘you’ than a singular one. “Rick Sanchez of Earth, Dimension C-137, is wanted for crimes against alternate Ricks. We figured he might show up here.”

You let out a snort and crossed your arms. “Doubtful.”

He made it a point to drag his gaze from your bare feet up to your face. “Uh-huh. When is the last time you had contact with the suspect?” This Rick hardly stuttered or stumbled over his words. He even enunciated more clearly than other versions of himself, making his t’s sound particularly sharp.

“Like… a week ago. Maybe two?” You shrugged. “What are the charges? Should I be worried?” Or was this about all that stolen xanthanite, you wondered; how bad was their security if they were just now solving that crime?

“27 Ricks have been murdered in their home dimensions,” another Rick piped up. “Your _boyfriend_ is a Rick-icidal maniac.”

“He’s just my next-door neighbor.”

“Aw, what’s the matter, sweetheart?” A third one eyeballed you like a dirty old man—which, to be fair, he was—and let out a wet burp. “Is he not _Rick enough_ for you?”

Before you could say anything, a Morty cut into the conversation. “Hey man, lay off.” He slanted his gaze toward you with a smirk. “Maybe she prefers younger men.”

“You’re so right, Morty.” You made a show of looking about the room as you continued, “Too bad I don’t see any around here right now. I would be all over that.”

“Oh snap!” someone said. The Ricks burst out in obnoxious laughter. Two of them high-fived. The Mortys, on the other hand, didn’t find it funny at all. They glared at everyone, though most of their ire seemed directed at the Morty who’d caused them the embarrassment.

“Enough!” Rick-In-Charge snapped.

Everyone fell silent.

You, however, refused to be cowed in your own home. “My Rick… C-137… he’s a lot of things, but I don’t think he’s a serial killer.”

“We’ll see about that,” he said, scar puckering in a sneer. Then he pulled out a portal gun and addressed the other Ricks. “You all have your orders. If Rick shows up here, you know what to do.” With one last lingering look at you, he opened a portal on the nearest wall and disappeared.

 

The Ricks refused to return your cell phone.

“If C-137 calls, we need to be able to trace the signal.”

“I just want it for a minute,” you said. “I need to call my boss and let him know I can’t come in today—”

“And tip off C-137? Absolutely not.”

“I’m not an accomplice or whatever, I just don’t want to lose my job, and thanks to you assholes, I way overslept this morning—”

“Take it up with S-3X.”

The Rick sitting on the loveseat smiled and waved.

You paused, giving the one you were talking to a long, blank stare. The Rick who had turned off your alarm… who had tucked a pillow between your knees… who had brought you a glass of water… who had been a _total creeper_ … was from S-3X? “Seriously. That’s his dimension?”

He smirked. “Explains a lot, doesn’t it.”

“Come over here, babe, and I’ll tell you all about it,” S-3X called out with a wink. He gave the cushion next to him an inviting pat.

You scrunched your nose and walked away.

 

They left you alone long enough to shower and dress. None of them, however, thought it was a good idea to let you out of the house. Well, not without supervision, at any rate.

“So, you and Rick…” S-3X said from the passenger seat of your car.

“No.” You gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and pressed down harder on the gas pedal. The sooner you got to the grocery store, the better.

“You’re really just neighbors?”

“Yes.”

“You’re single, then,” he said. You didn’t need eyes to know he was smiling; it came through loud and clear in his voice. “I have a, a _lady friend_ just like you back in my dimension. Doesn’t hold a candle to you though, babe.” He let out a belch. “After this whole mess is wrapped up with C-137, you think we could—y’know—?”

Resisting the urge to slam on the brakes and send his non-seatbelt-wearing ass flying through the windshield, you settled for cranking up the music. “Oh my god, I love this song!”

You hated this song.

Unfortunately, Pervert Rick was not one to take a hint. “Yeah, it’s got a nice beat. We could totally fuck to this.”

Heat flooded into your cheeks. “I don’t know how things are in _your_ dimension, but it really doesn’t work like that here.”

He looked at you with a toothy grin, a stranger wearing your neighbor’s face. “Geez, is this the prude timeline? C’mon, live a little. I’m offering no strings attached, mind-blowing sex. Call it a ‘cultural exchange’.”

All cards on the table, you were tempted. Some animalistic piece of your brain heard the word ‘sex’ from a man with Rick’s voice and got excited. Face burning hotter than ever, you allowed the thought to float around for a whole three seconds. Thankfully, the more logical part of your mind sank it with military precision. Sex with a Rick— _any_ Rick—was a terrible idea for a laundry list of reasons.

“No thanks,” you managed to say, “I’ll pass.”

Thankfully, S-3X didn’t press the issue for the rest of the trip. He didn’t even seem effected by your refusal. At the grocery store, he flirted with no less than six employees. He even walked out with two phone numbers.

 

Afternoon had faded into evening by the time the Ricks and Mortys left, taking all their strange equipment with them. Rick-In-Charge never came back. Most of them opened their portals and vanished without a word, though S-3X did leave his number just in case you changed your mind about his… proposal.

You are ashamed to admit you did _not_ delete it.

You waited on pins and needles for the better part of an hour, pacing around one side of your bed to the other, wondering what had happened to your neighbor Rick. Was he dead? Had he been arrested? Would his family know anything about the situation? Just as you were summoning the courage to go knock on the Smiths’ door, a portal opened on your bedroom wall, casting its green light across the carpet. Rick stepped out. Your lips split into a wide grin, relieved as you were to see him, but—

Smile fading, you asked, “C-137?”

His brow furrowed. “They were here.”

Regardless of whether it was a statement or a question, you nodded. “What happened? They said you’d murdered 27 other Ricks—”

“I found the real killer,” he said. “Those d-bags on the council cleared me.”

It was at this point you realized that he was alone, with you, in your bedroom. Flustered, you placed your hands on your hips. “Haven’t we talked about this before? No portaling into my house! Use the door next time like a normal person.”  

Rick scowled. “Well, _excuuuse_ me for checking on you! It won’t happen again!”

Your stomach came down with a serious case of the butterflies. “I’m fine,” you managed to say. “…I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Ditto,” he said before stepping back through the portal.

You stood rooted to the spot long after it closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 06.28.2018: Just wanna stress that this is tagged with 'alternate universe'. This isn't our C-137. It _really is_ an alternate universe. 
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://kishovra.tumblr.com/) now. Head over there for chapter notes, art, and other _Rick and Morty_ stuff. Come say hi!


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